Lost Sons
by Arukewari
Summary: The Horcrux inside Harry was not destroyed during the Final Battle. The plan to travel back in time and prevent Tom from creating Horcruxes in the first place seemed foolhardy and absurd – but anything was better than certain death. Right? Eventual Tom/ Harry, Time-Travel Fic with a twist.
1. Prologue

**A/N Yes, a time travel fic. Yes, it has been done many times. Yes, you should still read my version because it's brilliant (tongue in cheek).**

 **In which Ron and Harry travel back in time to nurture Tom Riddle into making the right decision.**

* * *

Tom Riddle was a cruel boy. He'd been told so often.

 _You will burn in Hell. You will have the heart ripped out of your chest and your blackened soul shattered by the devil himself._

So they said. Tom believed them. Not because they were smart. Muttons were smarter than the adults of his orphanage if only because they knew to run from the wolf.

They didn't. They fed him. Gave him a roof and a bed and kept him alive.

Tom curled his slight frame under the covers, shivering when the gust of wind sliced at his skin. The broken window that would never be fixed, squeaked. His stomach growled. Perhaps "fed" was too strong a word for what they did for him. But he would live; he would survive until the devil came as promised and he was strong enough to be King.

What did he care for his heart? It only hurt as it shuddered in his chest with each rejection from potential parents who refused to give him even a cursory glance. It only ached as his things were stolen by 'brothers' who shared his roof, if not his blood, before beating him black and blue with a choke full of mud in his mouth.

The devil couldn't come soon enough.

"Sir, you musn't, please."

Tom's ears perked at Hilda's voice. She was the nicest of them all. She only sneered; she was never physical. She would be the first to go when he became King. That way she wouldn't have to suffer.

Tom knew about suffering. It was caused by that beating thing that the devil would take.

A door clattered open, and stairs creaked as thudding footsteps echoed closer. Tom slipped out of the bed to crouch at his door. His small ear pressed against the splintering wood, frozen solid, red, and robbed of sensation by the cold.

The footsteps stopped.

"Sir, you must be mistaken." Hilda's voice was right there too.

A knock rapped on his door and Tom leapt back. He wasn't expecting it to come to his door. Years of eavesdropping had taught him: he didn't get visitors. Those were for others who were loved.

Another knock.

"Tom?"

Tom reached behind him for the stained mattress, feeling the familiar fabric to calm his gasps. His fingers fumbled, dropping to the scarred frame instead. They traced the patterns, soothing.

"Tom, can I come in?"

The stranger was asking him for permission. The novelty of it was enough to shock him into answering.

"Come in," he said as he had seen the adults of the orphanage do. His voice didn't waver.

As the door opened, Tom leapt to his feet, glancing around. His few possessions were tidy, his desk neat. Only his bed was unmade and he quickly pulled at the fraying duvet.

Spinning on his heel, his gaze jumped from his room, to the ajar door to the man who took up his entire room. He was a large man with auburn hair, and startling blue eyes that darkened with anger as he took in Tom handling the duvet. Tom didn't understand emotions except anger. Anger and Hate. Those he could understand. He'd been privy to them since he first opened his eyes to the world.

"Could you give us some privacy?" The man asked Hilda. The woman glanced at Tom with such distaste, the air curdled with it.

Without waiting for an answer, the stranger shut the door.

Tom smiled in his head, the way he had taught himself to do when he found that smiling led to beatings. He wished he could close the door on Hilda. Maybe this was the devil he'd been waiting for.

But if the devil was already angry, perhaps he had failed without even realising it. A part of Tom screamed with panic. No, this was his chance to leave! He couldn't stay here and miss his chance.

"Are you angry?" Tom asked, his voice small.

The red-head looked at him in surprised, settling himself on the floor, legs crossed. "Not at you, no." he smiled then, his eyes softening into a startling bright blue. "My name is Ronald Weasley. You must be Tom Riddle."

"That's right." Tom said cautiously. The panic that had coursed through him left a slice of adrenaline, leaving on edge.

"Sit," Mr Weasley gestured and Tom settled on the floor, mirroring the man's posture.

"I've heard so much about you, little one."

Tom sat up straighter, not daring to believe. "Really? Like what?"

"Hmm, like, you're the smartest boy in this entire orphanage. Though, I disagree."

Tom sniffed at that.

Ron smiled. "Perhaps disagree is a strong word. I think you're the smartest person in this village, including the men and women and children."

"You're smart too then," Tom ventured. "For figuring that out."

Ron laughed. "I guess I am."

Tom smiled, pleased. He had never made someone laugh before. Not in the light way Ron just did. Usually it was when his head was wet from being shoved into a soiled toilet and taunting laughs echoed in the hallways for weeks. He hated laughter. But this man – whom Tom was now sure was the devil – had a wonderful laugh.

Ron sighed, looking out at the darkening sky. "It's getting late."

Tom gasped. "You just got here, you can't leave."

Ripping away hope, now that was too cruel for words.

Ron reached out to grasp his small hands in his. The large, scarred, freckled hands swallowed his in such warmth, he could feel it spreading through his entire body.

"The idea was for me to spend some time getting to know you and vice versa, but there were some complications with the – " Ron paused to find his words. "travel arrangements. I know you have no reason to trust me, what with me showing up at your home in this fashion, but I would like it very much if you came home to us."

"Yes." Tom answered immediately, still distracted by the warm hands.

Ron looked surprised. "Well, ok, then."

"When can we leave?" Tom asked. "Now?"

Ron still looked a little shocked but nodded, rising to his feet. "Let me help carry your things."

"No, that's ok." Tom grasped at his things, quickly shoving them in the pockets of his too-large jacket. They were his things. His responsibility.

"Are you sure you don't need time to say goodbye to everyone?"

"No." Tom refused to elaborate. Then stood firm, waiting.

Ron glanced down at his pockets, that could fit all his belongings without even bulging. "Is that all?"

"Yes." Tom didn't want to sound defensive. He wanted to sound mature and adult-like and devil-like so this man would accept him.

"Well, let's go then." Ron spread his arms. "We're going to apparate so I'm going to have to carry you, little one."

Tom hesitated. When he stepped close to people, they hit him and that hurt. Tom didn't like pain.

"Trust me," Ron said. "It'll be an odd sensation, but it won't hurt."

Tom came closer.

"It's magic, like we'll teach you to do."

Magic. He knew it. This was the devil.

Those were his last thoughts as he was whisked away, his stomach being tugged and his body tightening as though he was being shoved into that toboggan in the park.

And soon it was over.

"Welcome to Godric's Hollow."

They had landed inside a living room. Plush carpet caressed his bare feet as Ron dropped him to the ground. A large grandfather clock ticked away in the background. The couch looked well used and soft, facing a crackling fire. The walls were a warm cream coloured, sparsely decorated by pictures of smiling – moving? Tom had to blink as one waved – people. He could only recognise Ron among them.

That's when he noticed the boy - no older than him - standing by the foot of the stairs. A messy-haired boy with green eyes framed by round glasses and a cautious smile.

He stepped forwards with a raised hand. "Hi, I'm Harry. You must be Tommy."

* * *

 **A/N Preview for next chapter if you review, it's been written up, just needs some editing so should be soon enough. What do you think?**

 **I'm happy to hear some suggestions although this chapter was short**

 **See you soon in the next chapter!**


	2. Godric's Hollow 1938

**A/N Chapter 2, two short updates to keep the story moving. After this the chapters will be longer.**

* * *

Things never went right for Harry James Potter.

 _Because that would make life too simple for him, and who would want that?_ He snorted to himself.

He sighed as he looked down at his hands, small enough to belong to a 9 year old, even though he knew he had aged down to 11 years of age. The Final Battle, only two days previously in his mind, had started and ended with fiery destruction and a plague of horror.

He had tried walking to his death as Dumbledore had instructed. But the Horcrux inside him could not be destroyed. The curse Voldemort had flung at him couldn't kill him either with the Horcrux in him. It wasn't love that kept saving him. It was the fragment of a soul so evil, so _wicked_ , Harry couldn't even bear to think of it, let alone approve of its permanent residence inside his body.

The curse didn't leave a scar on his head this time. But its effect was just as drastic. He was a child again.

Harry heard the pop of apparition and quickly rushed to the living room.

 _Calm down man_ , he thought to himself, as the hatred for Voldemort bubbled to the surface. This would be the trickiest part. Befriending a monster.

He stopped short at the sight in front of him.

It wasn't a monster that faced him, looking up at the living room in wide-eyed wonderment. A handsome boy with a thin hand clutching at this best friend, the other shoved into his pocket, marvelled at the house as though it was the foyer to heaven.

This wasn't Voldemort, not yet. It wasn't even the Tom Riddle he knew from his future. This was just a boy who had been dealt a shitty hand, even worse than getting the Dursleys as "relatives".

Perhaps they could do right by him.

He raised his hand. "Hi, I'm Harry. You must be Tommy."

The boy took his hand, more with shock than with acceptance.

"Come on, let me show you to our room." Harry gestured him forward with a nod to Ron. His best friend, for all his brazen attitude looked tired enough to keel over on the spot. They hadn't slept but for a couple of power naps since they had arrived in 1938, however they knew Dumbledore would have reached out to Tom over the next few days and they couldn't afford to rest.

Or perhaps they had already altered the past utterly. It was hard to tell how much change was too much change.

"Here," Harry dropped down to the bed by the window, leaving the twin bed to Tom. It was a small sparse room that would be his nursery in the future. Hermione had researched enough to know that Godric's Hollow would be empty when they arrived.

"So, who is Ronald?" Tom asked, wrapped up in his coat.

"A friend," Harry answered, still unused to be having a near civil conversation with Tom. The boy seemed weary and glared suspiciously at him, even as he settled into his new room. "Almost a brother I suppose."

"I see." Tom hesitated, clearly unwilling to ask vulnerable questions.

"Look, I'm sure you have loads of questions, but why don't I let you settle in and you can come down to the kitchen for dinner in a little while. This must be overwhelming." When Tom looked insulted, he added, "I would be."

"I'm not a simpleton, I don't get 'overwhelmed'," Tom sneered.

Harry sighed. He had spent just enough time with Malfoy to let the brat attitude slick off him like water from duck.

"Anyway, whenever you are hungry, come down." He gestured to the door. "The door across from ours is the bathroom, feel free to use it, and the one across the corridor is Ron's room." Harry paused, then sighed and walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. They had better not be too late in saving the psychopath otherwise this whole – illegal, dangerous – journey would have been for naught. Well not exactly, but he didn't want the death of a child on his hands.

He found Ron in the kitchen, making a cup of tea.

"Want one?"

"Yes, please," he answered, settling on one of the chairs that encircled the square table that was shoved against the wall. It left 3 seats, where he was sure they would be having supper from now on.

"How is he?" Ron asked, watching the kettle hiss and splutter.

"Don't know yet, nowhere near as antagonistic as I expected but it might take a while to get him to trust us – me. We're never going to be friends."

"Never say never, you two are more similar than you might think. He reminds me of you when we first met." Ron settled the mug in front of him, the dark liquid still steaming.

"Really?"

Ron laughed. "Yes, both so desperate for a friendship, for a direction, for escape. I can't really describe it. But give him a chance, that's the whole point. Because it's your decision, Harry. If you honestly, truly believe there is no hope…" Ron trailed off but they both knew how that sentence ended. _If there is no hope for redemption, they would have to kill him before he built Horcruxes and split his soul_.

"Let's give it some time." Harry said, wrapping his hands around the hot mug.

"Anyway, the one thing I'm worried about, that we weren't able to decide with Hermione around," Ron said her name with unmistaken wistfulness. He missed her, they both did, already. "We need to decide whether to send him to Hogwarts. As much as it's a safe and wonderful place, that's where Dumbledore sent him and you know how that ended. I don't want to make the same mistakes as the first time around."

"I know, I'd hoped being here, seeing him, would make the decision easier but…" Harry stared into his mug. "It's the only way to learn magic properly."

"It's also the only place he'll meet the Slytherin's twisted philosophy on Muggles and of course, Slughorn."

"And the place he'll learn what family is," Harry countered. They were rehashing the same arguments.

Overhead, the shower started, the heat clanking over the rusty copper pipes. They tried to minimise magic use to avoid the Ministry's attention, although without Voldemort's presence they were rather lenient.

"I'm glad I've left a clean towel in the bathroom," Ron said absently, then focused. "We'll let him decide. Let's keep him here for now, we've got a week before the first, right?"

Harry nodded.

"We can show him what a family is, Harry."

"You like him don't you?" Harry asked curiously. Ron was famous for his hot temper and prejudice against Slytherins.

"I told you, he reminds me of you. And I'm an adult now, I've seen Hogwarts destroyed, I've seen Hermione tortured. I saw you shrink down to the size of a child when _He_ tried to pull the Horcrux out of you. I thought you were going to _die_ ," Ron's voice broke on the last word. "You were so still, you have no idea." Ron let out a forced chuckle. "Scared the shit out of all of us. It's the only reason Hermione is breaking the law for us."

The other member of the Golden Trio had stayed back in 1997 to prevent everything falling to the ground. Regardless of the outcome of the war, Harry would have to die along with Voldemort. None of them could let that happen.

And when he had de-aged to a child with Voldemort's curse, Hermione helped them travel back in time to prevent Horcruxes from forming in the first place. The magic had allowed for Ron to travel back too; he was sure they would need a guardian figure at some point. This had already proven true with the suspicious landlord of Godric's Hollow.

Above them, the water stopped running.

"I'll whip up some spaghetti; I think we have some canned sauces and mushrooms." Ron said, breaking the sombre mood.

The aroma of garlic and a home-cooked meal, no matter how simple, reminded him of the Burrows and a pang of nostalgia hit him. Just as Ron finished cooking, Tom crept in, his hair wet and wearing the pyjamas Ron had left on his bed.

"I hope you found everything you needed," Ron said, serving up 3 separate plates.

"Yes sir," Tom answered with shocking politeness. Harry raised a brow.

"You like spaghetti?" Ron asked.

Harry could almost see the boy's mouth water from here and said dryly. "What 11 year old boy doesn't?"

Tom settled in the chair. "You're one to talk. What are you 8?"

"17 actually," Harry snapped back. Tom's surprise reigned in the sudden irritation that had overtaken him. "It's a long story."

As they all dug into their food, Harry observed the boy. He could feel the burning questions Tom had tumbling in his head and with the glances over at Ron …

Ah. He was jealous. Or rather, hungry for attention from an adult, an authoritarian figure.

 _Well_ , Harry thought. _That I can relate to_.

"As Harry said, it's a long story. If you're tired it can wait until tomorrow."

"I'm not tired," Tom said swiftly, his plate mostly empty already.

Ron glanced at Harry. "You start."

Harry leant back, watching the boy wolf down the last of his food.

"We are from the future, Tom."

Tom gaped, then closed his mouth with an audible snap. He wasn't a mindless gnome. He refused to look like one.

"We are wizards from 1997. We travelled back to give you a family."

Tom chewed the inside of his cheek. He knew he was special. But surely not _that_ special. And Harry's short summary hid many facets of the truth, he knew.

"Why?" he demanded.

"Because," Ron responded. "Everyone deserves a family, and no one deserves to die."

Which created more questions than it answered.

"So, it was either giving me a family, or killing me?" he asked shrewdly.

Ron reeled back but Harry's green eyes bore into his. He couldn't underestimate the boy who was aged 9 but was 17. Those eyes held as much darkness as those abandoned in the depth of the orphanage, forgotten, never to leave.

"We left a war. A war caused by twisted evil," Harry's voice was sharp. Coldness seeped through his new clothes, and Tom couldn't stop the visible shudder than wracked through his small frame. "It was an evil we had to stop at all cost. But even my death wasn't enough, so through sacrifice and at no small risk (Tom knew Harry had just mentally skipped many steps to the story), we decided to travel back here."

Tom's burning question was one he didn't want an answer to. _Was he the evil that needed to be stopped?_

He straightened his spine, squaring those little shoulders at the boy in front of him who was somehow older than the adults at the orphanage combined. Tom was no coward. "Is it me?" He winced when his voice came out tiny.

"No," Ron answered firmly with a glare at Harry.

Knowing Ron was protecting him, Tom snapped. "Don't lie!"

"I'm not lying," Ron responded. "I know evil when I see it. I've seen it many times. I've destroyed it many times. You are not it."

Tom shivered.

"I knew this conversation would be too much," Ron said, clearing their plates. "We're all exhausted. Let's sleep and tomorrow we can answer the rest of your questions."

His tone broke no argument but that was fine with Tom. He had lost control of his emotions. He had all night to school himself and come up with a tome worth of questions.

"Off to bed. Maybe we can even go to Diagon Alley sometime soon. Get you a wand," Ron said with a smile on his lips.

* * *

 **For the lazy reviewers out there, here are some suggestions ... just copy paste the one which most reflect your feelings :)**

 **1\. That was awesome, you're brilliant, I applaud you.**

 **2\. The story makes no sense**

 **3\. It's boring, the pacing is too slow**

 **See you soon in the next chapter!**


	3. The Beggar

**A/N Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine**

* * *

Tom burrowed under his cover, feeling the heavy duvet stick to his sweaty arms. He blinked in confusion at the weak sunlight filtering through the blinds.

Where?

Realisation hit him over the head and he shot off the bed. Next to him Harry slumbered on. The fire's last dying embers sparkled. Feeling foolish at the adrenaline that coursed through him, Tom lugged one of the logs stacked by the fireplace and shoved it into the fire.

 _Wizard. Diagon Alley. Harry. Wand. Ron._

Yes, many things had changed last night.

The explanation had not been nearly enough to satisfy his curiosity. Thankfully he had all day to get answers. While he wouldn't recover from years of sleepless night with one slumber, for the first time, he felt alive with hope and excitement.

Those were new emotions to add alongside anger and hate. They felt odd but also brilliant in ways he couldn't explain.

Right. He was getting a wand today. To learn magic. Tom sneaked to the door, avoiding the creak in the floorbed. His tenure at the orphanage had taught him stealth if nothing else. He opened the door and saw a stack of clean clothes on the other side of it.

He quickly changed, and descended to the kitchen, leaving Harry to his slumber.

"Good morning," Ron said, "What would you like for breakfast? We have toast and Weetabix. No idea what that is but got it from the muggle shop and it looks edible enough."

Tom sidled into the chair, eyeing the Weetabix doubtfully. "Toast please?"

"Not feeling adventurous this morning?"Ron joked, placing the still-warm toast into a place and sliding the jam and butter in front of him.

"I've got enough adventure planned for the day, thanks," Tom said dryly. He couldn't believe he was sitting in a warm kitchen, being served butter and jam like they weren't rare commodities, like he was a prince _._ He couldn't believe he was making _jokes_.

"Fair enough," Ron grinned. "Eat."

Ron folded the newspaper onto the free chair. "When Harry wakes up, we can go to Diagon Alley."

"What is that?" Tom asked with a mouthful of toast.

"It's a shopping street for wizards. We can get a few books too and maybe a familiar? What do you think?"

Tom chewed calmly. Inside he was writhing with joy. After yesterday he told himself not to expose his hands too early. He had gleamed enough from their short explanation as to what Ron – or at least Harry – would do if he stepped out of line.

Tom didn't rely on anyone. He couldn't afford to.

* * *

Ron shuffled the pair out of the Ollivander, feeling oddly paternal. A guardian to Harry Potter and Voldemort. Could his life get any weirder?

Tom seemed happy with his new wand. Yew with a phoenix core. Same as the original. The boy's face remained blank of impression throughout most of their trip and Ron would have lost hope if not for the light in his eyes.

He was a controlled boy, yes, but he was boy nonetheless. Ron didn't need to see his face. The excitement was palpable in the air surrounding him.

"Can you two go wait for me at the bookstore? I need to buy a few things from Knockturn Alley," Ron said, steering them towards the open door.

With a nod of assent, they both disappeared through the door. Tom had looked vaguely curious but he hoped his authority was enough to deter the boy from following him. Losing it already would be a record, even for him.

The Alley was fouler than he remembered. The stench of piss, sex and blood rose from the uneven cobble. Every so often, a waft a stale alcohol stung his eyes. Wrapping his scarf higher up his nose, Ron strode down the street.

He needed to find a time turner. There really was only one way to return to 1997, and it all started with a specific time turner Hermione had described to him in great detail. It would take months of careful spells and potions to rearrange it into a time turner that would allow him to skip ahead instead of backwards.

At the sight of a beggar, he absent-mindedly dropped a coin in his lap.

"Hey," a rough voice snarled. "What the fuck is this?"

Ron glanced back in surprised. In his long legged strides he had already walked some distance away from the beggar. He looked down at the coin. "Money?"

"I don't need your charity," the man snarled. A rough, tangled beard coated his cheeks and a thick coat curled around his shoulders. Looking closer, Ron could see the beggar was more adolescent than man. Even with the frown ageing his features, he couldn't be older than 20.

Ron snorted. "If you say so. Although if you don't want charity, maybe you shouldn't sit around look like a kicked dog." Ron paused, letting his gaze pass over the man in obvious contempt. "Or a crack-whore."

The beggar leapt up. Stood straight, he was as tall as Ron, although leaner. His coat billowed around him, making his frame more impressive. Any lesser man would have cowered, but Ron had survived a war. No, he had fought savagely in one.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" the man snarled, his face a mere inches from his own. "You're the one who doesn't belong here."

Hearing the truth in his words, Ron took a step back, his hands raised in supplication. "Look, I'm sorry."

"Sorry ain't good enough." His hand shot out to crush Ron's wrist in a bruising grip.

Ron reacted on instinct.

The beggar practically flew over his shoulder, landing with a thud and a wand at his throat.

"Don't touch me," Ron said. " _You_ 're the one who doesn't know who he's talking to."

The scuffle had drawn a crowd but in this Alley, no one was willing to help. Or so Ron thought until a pair just as scruffy and beaten down by life flew out of the shadows to bare their teeth at him.

"Let him go," the woman snarled, spit flying from her mouth.

"Loyalty? In this part of town? I'm impressed." Ron let go of the pressure on the beggars arm but kept his want where it was, its tip pointing at his jugular. "What's your name?"

The beggar didn't shift his gaze from the wand. "Fenrir Greyback. Yours?"

The name rang a bell but he didn't have time to dwell on it. "Ronald Weasley. I would say it's nice to meet you but I've met people under better circumstances," he said dryly.

"I've met people under worse."

"Fair enough." Ron slowly dropped the wand, though he kept it firmly in his palm. "You wouldn't happen to know where to find a time turner, would you?"

"That depends. How much is that information worth to you?"

"I would give you a monetary figure, but you don't like charity."

"It's not charity. It's an exchange of mutually beneficial goods." Greyback smirked, walking off down the street with a 'follow me' twist of his head.

Ron stepped in line. "Are your minions going to follow us the whole way?" He refused to show his discomfort at being outnumbered 1 to 3. He needed the time turner desperately.

Greyback gestured them to stand back and Ron sighed with relief.

"They make you nervous huh?" Greyback asked.

Ron shrugged. As much as he craved talking to someone of his age, he couldn't afford to give himself away. His mouth had a way of getting away from him. Instead he observed the twists and turns they took, the lowest decrepit of wizard-kind littering the way. His mouth twisted in a frown. There was too much ugliness in the world. A clean win in a war 40 years away would not fix this.

His gaze also twisted to the man walking besides him. It was a shame his face was covered by the hood of his coat and the unkempt beard. He was handsome in a tragic soulful outcast kind of way. His eyes, coloured a shade darker than honey captivated his attention. Perhaps honey was not a good description. These eyes were too painfully sharp to be compared to such a sickly sweet substance. Then Ron remember the fly that had spluttered and drowned in the pot they kept by the windowsill when he was a child. Honey was an apt description.

"Give a price you're willing to pay," Greyback said, snapping him out of his reverie.

Ron flushed, his cheeks staining red. Jesus, writing morbid poetry about a stranger's eyes? He needed some sleep.

"How about a warm meal? You look like you could use one."

Greyback raised a sceptical brow. "You're kidding right?"

"What?" Ron said affronted. "It's not as though you're giving me the time-turner. I still have to pay for it."

Greyback rotated a full 180 degrees on his heel and turned back the way they came.

"Ok, sorry," Ron shouted after him.

Greyback smirked and returned to him, to his original meandering path.

"Gee, you're so sensitive," Ron muttered, under his breath. He knew he shouldn't antagonise the man but he couldn't help the words from tumbling out of his mouth. Greyback didn't seem insulted. In fact, he looked amused at their banter.

"10," Greyback said.

"Galleons?"

"Grand, yes."

Ron stopped in his track. "10, 000 Galleons? Are you mad? For being a guide tour? Fuck you, I can find it on my own."

Greyback just chuckled, and even the sound of amusement had a twist of darkness to them. "You can pay me back in instalments."

"No thanks."

"Too late sweetheart, we're here," Greyback gestured at the second-hand store tucked away in the darkness of a side alley.

"Oh god," Ron said in sudden realisation. He hated owing people and he couldn't afford Greyback's fees. If only his parents had raised him less moral and more practical. Then he wouldn't feel guilty about refusing to pay a starving homeless bloke an exorbitant fee.

Greyback leered at him. "We can start with that lunch, totally deducible."

Ron stomped away from him, the interest making his skin prickle uncomfortably. His mind was clearly acting out, seeking sleep or angry at being thrust into such an unfamiliar world. The shop and badgering owner distracted him from Greyback. Within the hour, he was walking out, the time turner tucked into his shirt pocket and his wallet decidedly lighter. Greyback hadn't slinked away into the darkness.

Ron tried not to feel the tug of pleasure in the pit of his stomach. He really must be going mad.

"For 10 000, figured I owed you the trip back," Greyback said.

"Halve the fee, and I'll let you have your afternoon off," Ron smiled sweetly.

"No deal."

It was with a huff of defeat that Ron swivelled back to the sanctuary of Diagon Alley. It was fine; they were unlikely to cross path again so why make a fuss?

The bookstore smelled of stale books and asthma inducing dust but it was a welcome change to the stench of Knockturn Alley so Ron took a solid breath, letting his eyes adjust to the dim lighting.

He quickly found the two boys among the taller bookshelves. For the first time since the two had been shoved together by fate, Ron could feel the ease of their conversation and the fluidity of their relationship – friends, family, sworn enemies. Under the guise of knowledge and the comfort of familiar, neutral surrounding, the two looked like long-acquainted friends.

"Sir," Tom saw him first.

"Hello boys, found something you like?" Ron asked, glancing at the huge tome spread open in front of them. Of course they would find the oldest, most fragile, flayed book in the store.

A woman with silver hair, and golden hoops in her ears, descended upon them before the boys could answer. "You," she screeched, pointing at Ron. "Letting children play with these fortunes! What is the matter with you? They'll desecrate it, ruin, ruin, ruin for everyone!"

"Piss off lady, I've had enough crazy for the day," Ron dismissed her. "Take the books to the counter please."

Ron was more worried by the angry frown that was shaping Tom's face than the seizing lady behind him. Tom's face quickly smoothed under his gaze which did nothing to assuage his fear.

"Here, pay with this," he said passing his wallet to Harry, who could sense the danger of the situation.

"And giving money to a mere child," the woman hissed. "Some people don't deserve to be parents."

Ron snorted a laugh. "A parent, hah. How old do you think I am?"

He shook his head and walked out into the sun, with the boys quickly following his footsteps. He grabbed Tom by the shoulder, feeling the bony prominence shake.

"We need some food, then let's go back and you can tell me about what you found, 'kay?" Ron said, trying to shift the attention away from the spluttering old woman. She was already forgotten.

He knelt down to face Tom.

"The woman is a bat-shit crazy fool. You're smarter than 10, no a 100 of her combined. Learning to ignore people like her and letting go of your anger is the path to maturity." Ron said, looking into that blank face.

"Oh please."

Ron closed his eyes. Of course, Greyback hadn't left. Tom's attention was now solely focused on the cloaked figure leaning against the storefront. Even Harry's warm hand gripping the edge of his coat sleeve was ignored in favour of the stranger looping into his peripheral vision.

"Go away, Greyback." Ron said.

"Oh come on, 'letting for of your anger'" he mimicked. "What a load of bull. Harnessing your anger and directing it into something useful, now that's much harder to do, but so much more worthwhile."

"Please, will you fuck off, Greyback. This is none of your business."

Tom finally glanced down at Harry's hand and then at Ron's much larger one resting on his shoulder. "Sir, let go of your anger," he said.

For a moment, Ron held his breath, then gasped out a laugh. "That better have been a joke," he huffed.

"Of course, sir," Tom said, an angelic smile on his face. "Otherwise it would have just been an affront to your authority."

This time it was Greyback who roared out with laughter. Ron sneered at him, even as he marvelled at the sound of such pure amusement coming from someone who had thus far been the epitome of a miserable twit.

"Ok, enough," Harry said. "I'm hungry." Then he leaned forwards a little towards Ron with a thumb thrust in Greyback's direction. "Who is this?"

"Doesn't matter, I just owe him a meal," Ron answered.

"He owes me much more than that," Greyback said.

"After that little parenting session, you're lucky I'm even offering you a meal. But, tell you what, you can order as much as you want."

"You'll regret saying that," Greyback said. "I can eat 10,000 Galleons worth in one sitting."

Ron's senses were assaulted by herbs, roasts and coffee as soon as they walked into the restaurant he knew had survived the 40 years. In fact they were famous for it. Greyback frowned, looking at the spread of food and the chatter of customers. It was homey, prioritising quantity over quality, and affordability over pretentious taste.

"It's a buffet."

Ron laughed. "Yep, order whatever you want, _sweetheart_."

* * *

The anger that had exploded to the surface at the library, continued to bubble under Tom's skin. Dumping his purchases on his bed, Tom resisted the urge to hide them from sight, away from sticky, predatory hands. Things were different here. He hoped.

The easy camaraderie he and Harry had found at the library was long gone. Now the other resident of the room, puttered about with his things with the occasional wary glance thrown in his direction.

Tom quickly understood that devil or not, wizard or not, Ron did not approve of anger. Harry was harder to read. As much as he doubted they would kill him already, he couldn't trust them.

Yet, he didn't want to be careful.

He wanted to go back to the library and stick a knife in that woman's throat. Be congratulated when the blood spurted out of a gaping coronary.

He could feel his hand trembling with the desire. Why gave the woman to right to judge? To heave such nasty comments in his directions, and believe them too? That's what irritated Tom the most. That she genuinely believed she was superior to him.

If he could show her…

"Tom? It's ok."

He shifted to face Harry, a scowl on his face.

 _Control_ , he thought. _Just pretend you're not angry anymore, pretend you don't care._

"No it isn't," he insisted. Why couldn't he listen to that little vengeful voice in his head? "She thought she was better than me."

"Who cares what she thought?"

"I do. Doesn't it bother you? You, and Ron, us. We are wizards." Tom said the last word with a reverence usually dedicated to Gods. "Powerful ones too."

Harry rubbed at his eyes under the round frame, leaving a finger smudge on his glasses. "Look, I know how you feel alright? I wanted power over (he paused) certain people."

"Now you have it." Tom sat on the bed and fiddled with the lace of his shoe, feigning disinterest in this conversation.

"And as much as I've dreamt of showing them that I was stronger, that would have made me no better than them. Power comes to those who are worthy, Tom. Power that is stolen is fleeting and meaningless."

Tom snorted. "You and Ron. Always with your little 'insightful' comments on life." The deprecation was dripping from his words. "Just this once, why don't you let go? Do something bad."

Harry pressed his lips together and Tom was worried he had gone one step too far. He remembered the beggar – Greyback – with those narrow golden eyes, and the powerful fingers that had ripped the roast chicken into shreds. As much as Tom had disdained over his barely human appearance, every pore in his body had exuded barely-contained power. Greyback would be willing to unleash that strength on that woman. Rip out her throat himself.

"You want to hurt her don't you?" Harry asked.

Tom shrugged.

"Why?" Harry insisted.

"She insulted us."

"So?"

Tom resisted the urge to gape at him. "What do you mean, 'so'? She thought she was better than us."

"What does it matter? You're never going to see her again, she probably doesn't even remember you anymore," Harry said.

"It bothers me," Tom said, his voice getting louder as he let his emotions get the better of him.

Harry stood, his fingers clenched in his hands. "So what?"

"So, it hurt me!" Tom snarled back.

Tom took a shuddering breath, surprised to find himself standing, barely a hair's breadth away from Harry's face. His face felt hot and blotchy. He hadn't meant to say that.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that."

Harry reached out, grasping his wrist. "Yes you did, and that's ok."

Tom looked down at his shoes. They were so frayed he could feel the indent of the floorbed through them.

"I shouldn't be hurt by some stranger's words. I know I'm better than that." Tom said, enjoying the warmth of the fingertips grazing his wrist. Under his sleeve, he could feel goosebumps forming just from that simple touch. He had never enjoyed being close to other people, never thought that a simple touch could be so soothing.

So distracting.

The anger was still there, scratching at his chest, carving a permanent path in his memory, to be remembered forever. But so were the three gentle, warm pressures on the fragile bone of his wrist, the thin skin. He could barely focus on what Harry was saying.

Why was his brain so scattered today? He prided himself in his ability to think.

"You are better than that. She isn't even worthy of your anger," Harry said. Tom could feel those green eyes on him and he resisted the urge to twist away from the attention. "There are many people out there who will want to demean you, to treat you like shit basically, but I, I won't ever do that to you. Hey, look at me."

Tom forced himself to look up. His eyes widened at the closeness of the other boy's face. The warmth of the fire on his back was nothing compared to the heat of Harry's gaze, his breath, his presence.

"I promise I won't ever think I'm better than you," Harry vowed. "I'll always think you're brilliant. Trust me on that, if nothing else."

"Ok," Tom croaked. Any other word he could think of saying was lodged in his throat.

Harry pulled back, breaking the moment with a smile. "Let's go downstairs. Ron's waiting."

They both clattered down, Tom lost in thought and feeling off kilter. These people's kindness and thoughtfulness, while pleasant, was unfamiliar. Tom felt uneasy. Cruelty he understood. Evil, even, made sense. This genuine concern was making his skin crawl in confusion. Greyback was the only thing in all this – his new beginning and chance at life – that he could relate to. He was glad Harry had broken up the conversation. Another moment and he was worried what he would have promised the boy. With some distance between them, already, he was feeling more like his usual, angry self. It was comforting.

Ron had already spread biscuits and brewed mugs of afternoon tea. He looked at Harry questioningly but didn't ask about their raised voices. Instead he pushed the plate forwards.

"Is Greyback joining us?" Tom asked, nibbling on the heavy, triple chocolate cookie.

"Uh no," Ron said. "Why would he? I owed him some lunch after he helped me with an errand but he's basically a stranger."

Tom hummed in agreement although he burned with curiosity over the errand. One thing at a time. Focus on getting Greyback here, to talk to him. Greyback would understand revenge.

With an honest air he had perfected over the years, Tom asked. "But you like him."

Ron spluttered over his tea. "What gave you that idea?"

"You like him?" Harry asked incredulously at the same time.

"What? No. What the hell?"

"I didn't mean to cause such a fuss," Tom said sweetly. "Just that you seemed the type to make quick friends."

Ron fumbled with the biscuit, still looking out of sorts. "I suppose I am."

"Well, where is Greyback going to sleep? He didn't look like he had a place to stay." Tom asked.

Harry raised a brow at him. "What are you doing?"

"Just learning to be more accepting and kind to others," Tom said. "This is what you meant upstairs right? Be more open to people from different walks of life."

"Not exactly," Harry said suspiciously.

"I'm sure Greyback has a place to stay." Ron frowned.

"He probably doesn't and there is a storm out there today. Are you going to let a friend freeze outside?" Tom felt victory close by and he twisted the knife just a little more. "They used to make us sleep outside at the orphanage as punishment. One girl's fingers fell off from frostbite."

Both of them looked at him like he had grown an extra head, but he could feel Ron caving.

"Fine," Ron said. "I'll owl him an invite but no promises. It's not as though anyone is using the couch anyway," he added with a mumble. He got up and left the kitchen to write the invitation. Tom grinned in triumph.

"What are you looking so happy about?"

"Nothing."

Harry hummed. "You're plotting something."

"Honestly, I just thought Ron looked lonely spending his time talking to us children."

"Yeah, ok, I'll believe your altruistic bullshit," Harry snorted. "His name reminds me of someone though."

Tom straightened. "From the future?"

"Hmm, don't know. It just rings a bell." Harry sighed. "Never mind. I'm sure it'll come to me. I noticed you have your wand tucked into your trousers. Want to learn some magic?"

Tom grinned. "Really? Yes."

It was with palpable delight, that the three of them spent the rest of the day learning to make biscuits float around the kitchen.

Night fell, and with it came a knock on the door.

Tom's ears perked up at the sound. Harry was already sleeping, his hands curled up under his head, glasses folded on the nightstand. The rumble of conversation was too quiet to discern identifiable words.

Tom slipped out of bed, edging towards the stairs, being careful to stay out of sight. He crouched, leaning against the banister.

"Here's a blanket."

Tom saw Ron thrust a blanket at Greyback who leant back on the couch. Silence descended on the pair, and Ron shuffled his feet in a tell-tale sign of discomfort.

"Do you want tea or something?" he asked, awkwardly.

"Yes, thanks," Greyback said.

Tom felt his knees ache but remained put through the entire tea making ordeal. Greyback was watching Ronald with an odd look he couldn't understand.

"What made you invite me?" Greyback asked. His tone low, gruff.

"Tom made me."

Tom leant forwards, straining his ears. The pair were sitting on the couch, facing the fire, away from the stairs. While preferable when staying out of site, it made their conversation difficult to hear.

"So it wasn't out of some deep-seated desire to see me?"

Tom could practically hear the eye-roll in Ron's snort.

"I think he wanted to talk to you," Ron said, surprising him. He really needed to watch himself around the Red-head. He saw more than he let on. "As much as he enjoys and accepts that he's a special boy, a wizard, he looks uneasy around us. I'm hoping he'll relate to someone more…" Ron trailed off.

"Sketchy?" Greyback said dryly.

"Basically, yes." Ron sipped his mug. "Were you a Slytherin? You look it."

Tom tucked the strange word in his head. He mouthed it silently, enjoying the way it rolled off his tongue. _Slytherin_.

Greyback snorted. "Never went to Hogwarts."

"Wait, really?"

 _Hogwarts_. Another word Tom tucked away.

"You'd be surprised at the number of people who don't get invited to the prestigious school." Tom could hear bitterness. He wondered if Ron could to. "The boys look like they should be getting the infamous letter soon."

"They did."

Tom felt excitement flutter at the base of his throat.

"Debating whether to send them there," Ron said and Tom frowned. Why wouldn't he? Didn't he want Tom to learn magic?

 _Probably not_ , a snarky voice whispered in his head. _After all, who'd feed, and shelter the wolf hidden in their midst_?

He had to go. The brief afternoon of swinging his wand had only succeeded in accentuating his desperation for knowledge, for power.

"What is there to debate? They belong there."

"I know," Ron hesitated. "Just afraid for them. Not all knowledge is good."

Greyback twisted, and Tom could see his strong profile. "Don't be a coward. Every witch and wizard in this country should get a shot at going to Hogwarts. The loneliness and anger from being denied that basic right is worse than anything Hogwarts could teach."

Tom leapt out of his skin as a hand landed on his shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Harry whispered.

Tom took a deep shuddering breath, glad he managed not to yelp at the shock. The pair below hadn't heard them.

"Shh," Tom growled.

Harry crouched besides him and listened closely. The conversation below had an edge of certainty. Ron had made a decision.

"Looks like we're going to Hogwarts."

* * *

 **A/N Thanks for reading! I'm excited for the next chapter, stuff is getting real.**

 **I realise some stuff seems random, but you'll see, it's important for later, bear with me.**

 **Leave a review if you've got some time, any feeback is read and appreciated!**


	4. The Vanishing Cabinet

**Chapter 4 – Vanishing Cabinet**

 **A/N Update a day early! Couldn't wait any longer**

* * *

The Slytherin dormitories defined extravagance and frivolity. The thick green curtains fell around his bed in a semblance of privacy. Tom looked around. Harry was to be his roommate. Across from him, a blond boy with pale brows and a sneer twisting his narrow lips, tidied his belongings with a twist of his wand.

Diagonally to him, a pudgy boy with greasy hair caressed a broom.

"I'm Abraxas Malfoy," the blond said, sticking a bony hand towards him.

"Tom Riddle." He thrust his thumb back. "And that's Harry. Class starts tomorrow, yes?" Tom said looking down at his timetable. The Malfoy legacy was swinging on the opposite wall. The self-entitled brat looked like gold poured out of his pores. It wouldn't hurt to be his ally.

"Yes." Malfoy looked at him closely. "We were going to go down the Forbidden Forest in a bit, you should join us."

"Didn't you hear the headmaster?" Harry said. "The Forest is off-limits."

"What, you scared?"

Tom didn't like to be tested. Nor did he appreciate the depreciating look the blond sent Harry. He clenched his hands by his side. "We'd be happy to join you. Are you leaving after dark?" he asked innocently, his voice not betraying a hint of anger.

Malfoy stumbled. "Uh, yes that's the idea."

"And who's joining us?"

"Just Prince and Goyle, right?" Malfoy asked the boy next to him.

"Not like I have a choice. And why is Prince joining us? She's a girl." The pudgy boy put down his broom. "Don't tell me you _like_ her?"

Malfoy snarled, his cheekbone red, whether from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell. "Shut up, you troll."

Harry stepped between them. "Calm down, it's the first day. Let's not antagonise each other already."

"Don't tell me what to do," Malfoy snapped, although he appeared calmer. "Let's just leave already. It'll be dark by the time we reach the Forbidden Forest."

Malfoy swirled out of the door which closed with a bang.

"A bit dramatic isn't he?" Tom said, grabbing his coat.

"Wouldn't hurt to see what he's up to," Harry whispered, shrugging. They trudged out, ascending the stairs and out of the castle. During the conversation, the sun had dipped low in the sky, casting an orange glow to their surroundings. It quickly disappeared.

"Well," Tom said to Harry who was bundled in a thick coat, gloves and a red hat that attracted more attention than a herd of stomping elephants. "Isn't this romantic?"

"A stroll through the Forest of Death in the middle of the night? Absolutely," Harry answered. "Why don't we invite the giant squid and some tortured puppies to make it more celebratory?"

Soon they reached the hill where a girl from their year – Eileen Prince if he remembered correctly from the Sorting – waited in the shadows. Pitch black hair, lips the colour of blood and a large nose. Nothing striking about her, nothing that would attract the attention of a Malfoy.

"Eileen," Malfoy said, raising an elbow for her to grasp, as though they were entering a Ball.

"You've brought a crowd," she responded, ignoring his elbow in favour of staring at Tom and Harry with bottomless black eyes.

Malfoy flushed, dropping his arm. "Well, it _is_ the Forbidden Forest. I thought bringing a snack for the Dark Creatures would be a good idea."

Harry snorted and whispered to Tom. "Snack? What a lovely girl."

"As long as we run faster, it's not a problem," Tom answered. He was more surprised by his natural inclusion of Harry in his escape than by the way Malfoy and Prince were treating him. Good to know there were wizard scum too.

Soon they were entering the Forest and even Tom felt the tension grip his body. All conversation stopped as they followed along.

As the moon rose, he whispered. "Seriously, what are we doing here?"

Goyle answered. "Malfoy's been trying to impress Prince since we walked into the Hogwarts Express."

"Hope it's worth going 6 feet under for," Harry said.

The couple were already ahead although even in the darkness Tom could see the white-knuckled grip Malfoy had on Prince's elbow. Leaving a bruise on your romantic interest, that would surely impress her. Tom rolled his eyes.

At long last, Tom's feet were walking on sturdier ground. The path became cobbled and the forest expelled them to the edge of a beaten wall.

"What is this?" Harry asked.

"The only access to the outside world," Eileen answered. She raised her wand. "See, there's a gap in the protective circle. _Affligo._ "

Tom pulled back as a flash of light and a shattering sound pierced the night. Grotesque birds with two beaks lifted into the sky with a wail. The air seemed to shimmer and from above the wall, a woman crawled through. A woman with recognisable golden hoops and silver hair, from a library not long ago.

"You!" Harry said, pointing. Tom grasped the finger and twisted it painfully. Harry yelped. The crowd of youngsters all turned to stare at them.

"You know her?" Prince asked.

"Don't think so," Tom said with a frown, twisting Harry's finger further. He let go at the pinch of his forearm. "She does look like the taxi driver though."

Harry glared at him but thankfully responded in kind. "That's right."

Prince narrowed her eyes suspiciously as the woman finally dragged herself into the Forest with an enormous wooden box behind her. It looked like a closet or some sort. Or a cabinet.

"Eileen," the woman shrieked. "Who are these people? Can't you do anything right?"

The woman whipped around to face Tom, eyes blown wide and fingers with nails like claws scratching at her arms. "You… you," she hissed.

Anger swelled inside of Tom but he reined it in. A gormless smile lit up his features. "Yes?"

The woman spluttered. Her mind seemed too scattered to recognise any of them.

Eileen reached out to touch the cabinet.

"Don't touch!" the woman shrieked. The smell of stale beer permeated her surroundings.

"Hello to you to mother," Prince said and Tom raised his brows in surprised. He glanced at Harry to notice him staring at the cabinet in dawning realisation.

This wasn't the first time he had seen it. _Interesting_.

"I said, don't touch!"

"How am I supposed to take it back to the castle if I can't touch it?" Prince snapped back. She took a deep breath. "Just go back alright, mother? I'll take care of everything." She patted her mother's head like she was calming an enraged bull. Or a caffeinated Chihuahua.

"Hello, Lady Prince," Malfoy suddenly said in the silence, almost as an afterthought. "I'm Abraxas Malfoy."

"Don't care," Lady Prince said, sharp teeth biting into cracked lips. Even in the dark, Tom could see her eyes were bloodshot.

"What does that mean?" Malfoy asked, stepping closer, slipping the wand into his palm. "You crazy, old witch."

Even Tom couldn't react to the hand that shot out of Lady Prince's cloak to grab at Malfoy's skinny throat. The blond's hand grappled, the wand falling from his limp fingers to the muddy ground with a plop.

"Mother!" Eileen pulled at her mother's arm to no avail. Instead she was flung back by an elbow shoved into her abdomen.

It only took a moment for Harry to have his wand pointing at her jugular. "Let him go."

Tom noticed Malfoy's face was turning blue, his mouth hanging open to gasp in oxygen. The tendons in his neck shuddered.

"Now!" Harry snapped.

"What are you going to do, child? Levitate me? Or perhaps turn me a funny colour. Those are the spells they teach children, are they not?"

Tom could see the sanity in Lady Prince's eyes. She knew exactly what she was doing. Behind her, Eileen coughed.

"Let him go," Harry growled.

It wasn't going to happen. Tom could see Malfoy's eyes roll back in his head. The white of his eyes shone blue under the light of the moon. His foot kicked out, once, twice, before stilling. Harry hesitated.

Tom grabbed the rock sitting at the base of a tree and swung it at her head with a twist of his shoulders. It impacted with a heavy thud.

For a moment, no one moved. Then, with an audible gasp, Malfoy inhaled, coughing. The rock fell from Tom's grasp, landing next to feet… Feet that weren't moving, not even a little.

"Hey," Goyle whispered from the sanctuary of a large oak. "Is she dead?"

Malfoy continued hacking up a lung, the only sound in the sombre silence.

"Good riddance," Eileen piped up, although she looked shell-shocked and pale, still grasping at her abdomen.

Tom caught Harry's gaze. His glasses were stained with some mud but he didn't seem to have noticed.

"No, seriously," Goyle said, approaching them cautiously. "She's not moving."

Harry broke their gaze, looking down at the still body. He bent down and shoved a finger into her neck. Her face was hidden by her hair as she lay face down in the dirt.

"I can't feel a pulse," Harry said quietly.

Eileen's frame shook. "Wait, really? Try again."

Harry moved to Lady Prince's wrist and they stayed quiet for a moment. Tom could only see the trail of liquid that ran across her forehead. In the darkness, the blood looked black.

"Nothing," Harry said.

"Oh god," Tom whispered, bringing a finger to his lip. He couldn't understand what was happening. He couldn't _deal_. Not with Malfoy gasping away, and Goyle on the verge of tears and Harry so calmly feeling for non-existent pulses.

"It's not your fault," Eileen finally spoke up.

Goyle wailed.

"Now what?" Tom's resonated in the forest. Even to his ears, he sounded much too calm.

Harry lifted his hand off the body, looking straight at him then down at the corpse. "Now, we bury her."

* * *

Ron held his hand poised over the parchment. It was the cheapest he could find. Unfortunately, as much as he could fake a Hogwarts acceptance letter, faking a teacher certificate was beyond his scope. For now, he would have to communicate with Harry through owls.

The spells were slowly working on the time-turner. Perhaps, now that Harry was back in Hogwarts, he could return to 1997 and help Hermione out. He sighed. Since the pair had left, Ron felt like he was flailing. He desperately needed to get closer to the castle. Otherwise, what was the point of him being here?

"Ronald?"

Ron turned at the voice. "Hi, Greyback." He couldn't help the twinge of wistfulness in his voice. Greyback had not returned to Godric's Hollow after the first night. And it had been a fortnight since the boys had left for Hogwarts. Fuck, he was already lonely. Could he be more pathetic?

"You miss me?" Greyback asked, fingering the edge of the parchments on sale.

"Even my shadow is better company than you."

Greyback smirked as though he could hear the lie to his statement.

"What are you doing here?" Ron glanced out at the bustling Diagon Alley that sprawled in front of him. "I guess I am trespassing in your home."

"You're hilarious," Greyback said deadpanned. "Actually I have the answer to the questions you asked me a few days ago? Above moving out of Godric's Hollow to Hogsmeade?"

"Really? Did you find a place?"

"I asked around and yes, there is a room for rent in my building."

"Thanks," Ron said, with his mind racing. He hadn't actually expected the favour to be returned, but now he could move closer (one short corridor away from the Room of Requirment) and actually do stuff to help. Maybe he wouldn't be driven insane by uselessness. "When can I move in?"

"Basically, now. You'll have to pay the landlord at the door and she'll give you the keys," Greyback scribbled an address onto the parchment he was about to buy. He hesitated for a moment, looking out the window, then asked, "Want to grab a coffee? If you're free."

Ron glanced up from the address in surprise.

Greyback added. "I could do with a free drink."

"So I'm paying," Ron snorted. "I guess I do owe you. Fine, let me just buy this."

As they stepped outside the shop, the purchased parchment tucked under his armpit, an owl flew overhead and dropped a letter in his hands.

 _Urgent_. The scrawling was unmistakable Harry's.

Ron ripped it open, reading the singular line written on the parchment. _We're in trouble already, meet at 9 pm, the usual place._

Panic seized him, before he blew out the breath in a gasp. If it was that urgent he wouldn't have designated a meeting time, just asked him to fly over immediately. And clearly he wasn't dead either. This was Harry Potter for god's sake. What was he expecting? Trouble sniffed him out at every corner, even in 1938 apparently.

Greyback cleared his throat. "Something wrong?"

Ron blew out a breath. "Boys and trouble go hand in hand. I'm sure it's nothing. Maybe a rain-check on the coffee though."

Greyback stared at him. "Sure."

Ron smiled weakly. "Ok, thanks, then." With an awkward wave, he walked away, apparating quickly to Godric's Hollow with plans to move into Hogsmeade before nightfall.

He prayed Harry hadn't done anything atrocious. As long as no one was dead, he'd consider it a minor victory.

* * *

A woman dead, already.

Ron returned to his new abode in Hogsmeade at 2 in the morning with metaphorical blood on his hands. He hadn't swung the murder weapon but a couple of weeks into the past and he could already put accessory to murder on his list of crimes. He scoffed, dropping to his knees by his bed. He already had blood on his hands, travelling in time hadn't changed that.

And yet… somewhere, deep in his heart, he had believed this was a second chance at life. Barely a week in and already someone was dead. This is the way it always started. First he'd be protecting his family, his friends by covering up a murder. Soon, he'd unravel to holding the knife himself, spitting out the _Avada Kedavra_ through his own lips. To protect. Always for others.

But it wasn't a good enough excuse. It was chipping away at him. How long would it take in this alternative dimension before he held a bloody knife in his hand?

And there was the issue of the Vanishing Cabinet as well. Severus Snape's grandmother dead. The Vanishing Cabinet shoved in the corner of Harry's dorm. Too much was changing already.

He fell into bed.

"Ronald?"

He sprang back, hooking his ankle into the duvet and landing on the bony edge of his spine. "Fuck, oww."

Greyback peered at him from the head of the bed. "Wrong bedroom."

Ron winced. "Ugh, I got that, thanks."

He stood to let himself out. In his exhaustion he hadn't even noticed the lump under the covers.

"You ok?" Greyback asked. His voice didn't have the usual gruff snark, instead it was sleep roughened and arousing.

Ron felt his chest constrict, suddenly overwhelmed with emotions. Tom had killed last night. Harry had buried a body. Greyback was looking gorgeous and sleep-addled.

He rubbed a hand at his forehead. The skin felt tight and misery crawled over his features. If he looked in a mirror he was sure he looked closer to 40 than 18.

"Come on," Greyback gestured, lifting one side of the duvet.

Ron shook his head.

"I promise not to ravish you, or ask any questions. Just sleep, you look like you haven't in years."

Ron took a trembling breath. His whole body was frozen cold. How was this his life? He was alone, away from his family, his brothers and sister. He missed Hermione and even Harry. It wasn't the same talking to the boy. He felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders and they ached under the pressure.

He shuffled forward, slipping off his shoes and climbing in.

"Not one word, please," Ron begged him, grasping at the edge of the bed. It was too small for two built men well over 6 feet.

Greyback mimed locking his lips, and swung the duvet over his shoulders.

The warmth was suffocating. Ron scratched at his collar, closing his eyes. He could barely breathe under the sweltering heat. He hauled himself onto Greyback's chest, tucking his head in the nook of his shoulder.

Suddenly the adrenaline was ripped away from him like air from a punctured balloon. His eyelids drooped and the last thing he remembered was the firm muscled chest and the smell of coconut and sweat.

* * *

Ron was soon snoring away.

Fenrir on the other hand was wide awake. He hadn't expected his half-asleep 'join me in bed' leer to be taken seriously.

Not ravaging the man would be the hardest promise he would ever have to keep. This close, he could see the thick eyelashes, a shade darker than the ginger hair atop his hair, his smooth skin, most freckled over the bridge over his nose, and that beautiful mouth, lips pale, slightly parted in sleep. He wanted to bend over and tug that bottom lip between his teeth.

For the first time since they had met, Fenrir realised he couldn't be much older than his 16. His gaze aged him decades.

Carefully, he slid down the bed to lie face to face to the man who, for a week, had consumed his thoughts and dreams. He really was stunning, defining the word Man. He must have women tripping over their feet, courting him, flinging pheromones in his direction. And yet here he was, lying in bed with a monster.

 _He doesn't know you're a werewolf though_ , a voice chided.

Fenrir felt a twinge of guilt. He was sure he wouldn't be sleeping tonight, if only to memorise this face, not yet twisting in horror with a mouth gaping in a scream. Let him have tonight. He would find out soon enough.

He raised his finger, lightly skimming the tip of Ron's nose, cold from being out at this time of night. Mystery shrouded him, darkening even his smile.

What was he doing with two adopted children? Why did he smile so joyfully with eyes so desperate? What did he need a time turner so desperately for?

Why was he willing to climb into bed with a stranger, a male, who could with a whispered rumour destroy his reputation and his chance at marriage?

What were you doing tonight?

What would you do if I kissed you?

Greyback rested his hand on that chest, shifting with each slow breath. Ron vibrated with life. And even with the despair tightening his features, he exuded hope. If only he were a wolf too. He could fall in love. Tumble over the edge with a single step.

Morning came too soon. The clouds were overcast, barely letting light filter through the curtains. Yet, the house was coming alive. With his heightened senses he could hear the clattering of pots from the kitchen, the 'good mornings' and small talk, the scraping of chairs.

He counted down in his head. 10 more seconds.

He paused as he came to one, his stare fixed on the face that had entertained him for the past few hours. Ok, another 10 seconds.

It was with the most self control Fenrir had mustered in his short life – even including the 'do not kill' mantra he repeated to himself on the full moon – that he rose from bed, tucking the man into his bed like some love sick fool. He shook himself out of it. He was a man, an alpha even, for fuck's sake.

In the living room/ foyer/ communal space they had created, Hope Howell and Lyall Lupin waited. Howell, the self-appointed cook and landlord, leered at him. "Who's your little friend?"

Lupin's head snapped up. "You met him?"

"Oh yeah," she said serving scrambled eggs, sausages and bacon. "Our dear Alpha asked me to spare one of our rooms for some Pureblood wizard who can barely afford the rent. He's the same guy who pointed a wand at his throat a week ago, remember?"

Lupin raised a brow at him.

"The rooms were empty," Fenrir defended himself.

"That's the point, Alpha," Tina answered. "It's for stray werewolves who find themselves kicked out and in need of shelter. Not for your booty call."

Fenrir refused to respond. He preferred for them to think it was an extended one night stand then be teased for going soft. Or worst, have his Title stripped off for crushing on a Pure wizard.

The silence apparently was a dead giveaway.

"You've got to be kidding."

"Keep your voice down," Fenrir hissed at his best friend, glancing back to the stairs.

"Afraid your little man-crush won't get his beauty sleep? For God's sake, he's a wizard."

"So?" Fenrir responded. "Not all wizards are bad."

"Not all… Do you even hear yourself?" Lupin said incredulously. "You, who concocted little fantasies about taking over the world by slaughtering wizards?"

"I was a bitter child, you're the idiot for taking those sentiments seriously," Frenrir said.

"That was yesterday. Did I somehow sleep through your rite of passage into adulthood? What a shame."

Howell sighed. "Leave him alone, Lyall."

Lupin glanced back at his girlfriend, then shook his head. "Fine. Pass me the newspaper, please."

Fenrir gave him the Daily Prophet, slightly damp from the morning dew. An awkward silence descended as they ate.

"On a more pleasant note," Howell said as she popped the last piece of toast into her mouth. "We've got a problem with the Vanishing Cabinet."

Fenrir frowned. "What happened?"

"Don't know. The woman – Lady Prince whatever – was supposed show up yesterday with the rest of the money."

Lupin slammed the newspaper down on the table with a snarl in his direction. "I told you we shouldn't have trusted her. Prisoners of Azkaban look saner than her."

"She had the money," Howell rested her hand on his forearm, calming him. "But now our most valuable product is gone, and there's no money. There's only so long we can play on the right side of the law without starving, alpha. What do you want to do?"

She was right of course. It wasn't as though they were employable. The last of the money from his inheritance had been spent buying this place. At least they had a roof over their head.

"I'll figure something out. Until then, let's live off of Ron's rent."

"Oh he's _Ron_ is he?" Lupin leered.

Howell smacked the wooden spoon on his hand. They were like a married couple. It was sickening.

"Maybe if you guys shared a room, we could have another spare," Fenrir said sweetly. He knew it was a point of contention between the pair.

"Arsehole," Lupin whispered.

He smirked in response. He really would have made a good Slytherin.

* * *

 **A/N Any characters from the 1930s Potter world you might be interesting in seeing? Drop a review with their names and I'll see if I can sneak them in! How was this chapter? Thanks for reading!**

 **See you next Thursday!**


	5. Pact

"Goyle is breaking," Prince said, dropping into the available seat next to Tom.

"You're kidding. It's only been a week," Tom hissed under his breath. Harry just blinked blearily.

Prince shrugged, serving herself to some breakfast, still steaming and kept warm by charms. Even so close to class, the Dining Hall was alive with noise.

"He's been crying himself to sleep every night," Harry said. "He might not be able to get over it, like the rest of us. Which is not necessarily a bad thing."

"It's bad thing for us," Tom snapped at him, his finger twitching around his pumpkin juice. He was a murderer. And an orphan, with no lineage? It was like asking them to save him a room in Azkaban.

"Well, you lot are his roommates, not me. So," Prince tapped him on his arm, then on Harry's. "You're it. He's your responsibility now."

"This is all your fault to begin with," Tom said as calmly as he could.

" _My_ fault? I didn't ask, nor want, a chaperone that night. The only reason I'm helping you is because you're holding my," she dropped her voice to a whisper with a quick glance around for eavesdroppers, "property hostage."

"Good thing too," Harry said. "Since you don't seem to have a bone – no, a cell – of loyalty in you."

"Off to class, Harry, Tom, Eileen," Albus Dumbledore came up behind them, gesturing to the grand clock suspended in mid-air.

"Yes Professor," they muttered, and with one last glare at each other, they disappeared through the oak doors.

Tom glanced back at the bearded Professor, peering over his half-moon glasses. As much as Harry spent the majority of his time staring at him suspiciously – understandably so – Tom couldn't understand why he should stomach the same looks from a professor he had never met personally.

Eileen was already seated by the time they made it to Defence against the Dark Arts. Malfoy shot them a brief smile.

"We're going to have a lesson discussing the consequences of the Dark Arts today," Professor Gibbons said, a whip thin man with no presence. The chatter barely quietened as he started talking. "Discuss amongst yourself and present your findings at the end of the week." He cleared his throat, looked a little lost, then sat back down.

Tom rolled his eyes.

"Do you think Eileen will say anything?" Harry asked. Lodged as they were in the back of the classroom, they were isolated enough to hold a private conversation.

"Doubt it. She's as implicated as us. And it's her mother. She's the one with the most motive. Plus, how is she going to explain not alerting authorities about her disappearance?"

"Hi guys," Harry said, raising his voice as the trio – Malfoy, Prince and Goyle, settled around their table.

"Let's form a group," Malfoy spread parchment on their table. _Consequences for committing crimes,_ he scrawled at the top. "We should be familiar with this topic, yes?"

Goyle moaned pitifully. Harry grimaced and whipped out his quill.

"Specific to spells," Harry said, annotating that besides Malfoy's careful title with his chicken scrawl.

"Oi, don't ruin my notes."

Tom slapped his hand down in the middle of the parchment. "Focus on the big picture."

Christ, it was like talking to children. He supposed they all were, except for Harry Potter. For the first time in his life, Tom had friends. Yes, they were brought together by him killing someone but it was nice to have people who were willingly associating with him.

 _Through murder_ , a voice said, in his head. _Why don't you kill a couple more and you'll be the most popular boy in school._

Perhaps not a thought he should bring up to Harry, who had been by his side constantly this past week. Not as a sign of friendship. More because Harry was afraid he'd combust and … Tom sighed. Who knows? Start a war? It certainly seemed like Harry was afraid of something. One cold comment, one joke, and Harry would be the one burying him besides the golden-hooped lady.

Tom knew. Harry wouldn't hesitate. Not if he thought Tom was Danger. With a capital 'D'.

As the group squabbled, Tom chewed the end of his quill. He tried to imagine what his grown up self could have done that was so horrifying. His mini-list in his head was growing with his expansive imagination.

It couldn't just be murder. That seemed too gentle. And for what purpose? Yeah, power would be nice but he can't imagine dedicating his life just to have revenge on the orphanage. He'd just burn the bloody place down and move on. Right?

"Put Azkaban at the top of the list," Prince said to Malfoy. Goyle whimpered again. "For God's sake. Stop moaning. It's not going to happen to us."

"How can you be so sure?" Goyle answered his voice much too loud.

Tom twitched in his seat. What a baby. "No one is going to find out about any of this."

Goyle sniffed.

"And even if they did," Malfoy continued for him. "You protected the heir to the biggest fortune in Europe. I can't think of a better reason."

Goyle didn't look entirely convinced.

"Here, give me your hand," Harry said, placing his on the table.

"Why?" Goyle sniffed suspiciously.

"Come on, all of you," Harry insisted waiting for everyone to put their hands on top of his. "We're making a pact ok? We'll stick together, no matter what. No one is going to say anything. I promise, none of you are going to Azkaban." All with their head bent forwards, they looked like the closest of friends. Harry's bangs fell over his glasses, perpetually smudged. He caught his stare. "I promise, no one is going to find out, no one is going to get hurt. On my honour as Gry – Slytherin." He tapped his chest with a fist.

Tom smiled at the slip. He knew from their discussion of Houses that Harry and Ron had been Gryffindors in another life.

"Promise?" Harry asked.

In a coordinated, unplanned movement, everyone tapped their own chest with their fist. "Promise."

* * *

Ron came down to a kitchen, clattering with the cacophony of cooking.

"Good afternoon," he said, grabbing a loaf of bread from the tray. It was still warm from the oven. After a few days, he felt he was really settling into his new home. There had been no news from Harry – which was good news, as far as he was concerned – and he was getting along wonderfully with Hope. With her soft brown hair, and green eyes, she was the spitting image of Remus. He wished he could tell her what a wonderful son she would raise.

"Hi," she said, stirred the pot on the stove. "Any plans for the afternoon?"

"I've got the night shift at Hog's Head, so leaving soon," he answered, settling on an available seat. He fiddled with the time turner, twisting the device in his hand. The spells would be ready in a few weeks.

Without the certainty of Harry's safety and Tom's redemption though he couldn't risk travelling back. It would be useful in an emergency though.

"That thing working yet?" Hope asked. Unlike Lupin, she never asked what he needed a time turner for.

Ron's answer was interrupted as the door slammed open. Greyback and Lupin trekked in, soaking the entrance with the storm.

"Fuck," Greyback swore, throwing his coat and today's newspaper on the table. "The new decree went through." Noticing Ron was listening, he pressed his lips together.

Although Ron knew he was a werewolf, suspected Hope and Lupin were too, they had yet to tell him. He was certain the new decree involved demeaning the non-wizards in some form. The Ministry was skilled in debasing second class citizens further with each passing law. That had not changed in 40 years.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Greyback snapped at him, flustered by his presence.

Ron swallowed the last piece of bread. "Heading out now."

He stood to let himself out, opening the doors to two cloaked figures, one of whom had a raised hand, poised to knock.

"Yes?" Ron asked.

"Fenrir Greyback?" the bulkier of the two asked.

"That would be me." Greyback responded, from his seat at the table.

"Aurors." They flashed their badges. "Can we come in?"

Ron saw Greyback nodding in resignation. Howell raised a trembling hand to her head then twisted to boil some water.

"Tea, gentleman?" she asked.

Seeing the sneer on the Aurors' face, even the pimpled one who looked young enough to be wearing diapers, Ron closed the door. Hog's Head could wait.

The younger Auror whipped out a parchment and quill, ready to transcribe everything. "So, we've got some questions about the disappearance of a woman who was last seen talking to…" he raised his quill, swinging it between them. "men matching your description."

"Ron, shouldn't you be going to work?" Hope asked softly.

"I'll stay."

"Get out." Greyback ordered, not even glancing in his direction.

"No, he should stay," the bulky Auror said, leaning back and making the wooden chair creek precariously. "Name?"

"Ronald."

"Got a last name, kid?"

"Greyback," Ron lied on the spot. He had only told Tom and the werewolves in the room his given name. Unlike them, Aurors were likely to look him up. He didn't need his grandparents getting a visit from authorities. He saw Greyback tense.

The Auror sucked in his teeth. "Really? Ain't no folk with that name on the registry."

Hope glanced up nervously from brewing an undesired tea.

"So, you breaking the law, Ronald Greyback?"

The name was said with such spitting contempt, Ron – even with all the maturity he had gained during the war – couldn't resist snapping back. "Aren't you here to ask questions about some missing lady?"

"Are you telling me how to do my job?" The Auror sat up straighter, his gut spilling over his belt at the movement.

"No, sir." Ron gritted.

The Auror very obviously took out a quill and jotted down his name down, underlining it. "I'll be looking you up when I get back to the office."

"You do that."

Silence descended. With a clatter, Hope brought the tea forward, placing a couple of broken biscuits beside it.

"We're looking for a Marguerite Eileen," the Auror finally said. He whipped out a picture, sliding it forward to Greyback. Ron refused to take his eyes off the two intruders.

"Never seen her before in my life," Greyback said.

"Really? Look again."

Greyback shook his head.

"Huh," The Auror said. "Interesting. Do you not look at the faces of the women you feast on?"

Lupin jumped forwards, only held back by Hope's hand on his arm.

"Where's your proof?" Greyback asked through clenched teeth.

"Right now this is a missing persons case, so you're absolutely right, we do need evidence to make an arrest."The Auror served himself to a biscuit, chewing real slow, his yellow teeth flashing under the light. "With murder cases though, we no longer require evidence to prosecute beasts."

Greyback lunged forwards, his chair clattering to the floor. He grabbed the man's collar with a snarl.

"Punch me, I dare ya," The Auror sneered. "I'd love to add attempted murder of an Auror to your charges, that's guaranteed life imprisonment, right there."

Ron stepped forwards, grabbing Greyback's wrist. "Let him go."

"Listen to the boy."

When Greyback did, the Auror rubbed his throat with an exaggerated wince. "Animals, no manners at all."

He stood, wiping the crumbs off his trousers.

"We'll see ourselves out," he smirked. "Shall we?" He glanced at his partners and the two disappeared through the door and into the storm.

The oven timer ticked away and the windows trembled with the wind. Yet, the anger and fear made such a presence, they were a sound of their own.

"Fuck," Greyback finally shouted. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He grabbed the closest chair and slammed it into the ground, shattering it into timber. His anger seemed to crumble with it.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"We're not going to Azkaban," Hope piped up. "We didn't do anything wrong."

"Doesn't matter," Lupin said. "Who we are is bad enough."

"But they can't just…" she trailed off.

"Arrest us for a crime we didn't commit?" Lupin grabbed the newspaper off the table, spreading it to reveal a small print box hidden among beauty spells and anti-ageing potions. "Apparently, as of yesterday, they can."

"Greyback, what do we do now?" Hope asked, but the man wasn't listening to her. Instead he was watching Ron as though he was particularly peculiar puzzle.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Nothing. Just, you don't seem surprised."

"I'm not," he said, then grimaced. "I knew."

"What the hell? When were you going to tell me?" Greyback snapped.

"I was waiting for you to tell me," Ron said calmly. "Don't take out your anger on me because life as a werewolf is difficult." Greyback breathed sharply through his nose. "Now, I actually do have to get to work, but we can talk about this when I get back." He reached out to Greyback, then thought better of it, and dropped his arm. With a sigh, he marched out.

He didn't need this. Anyway, he shouldn't care enough to do anything about it. This entire detour into the past was supposed to be focused on Tom Riddle. He shouldn't get involved in this business.

Ron felt his heart lurch. Fuck, just this one thing and then he was leaving the past alone.

* * *

Tom sat in the library, using his finished essay as an excuse to avoid company. His cheek hurt from pulling so many smiles in such a short amount of time.

Prince plopped down in front of him. Goodbye, quiet afternoon with his best friend, solitude. Hello, irritating conversation with a nosy witch with too much time to kill.

"So, what's up with you and Harry?" Eileen asked, shoving the pile of books aside so she could see him.

"Please, join me," Tom sighed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, aren't you two supposed to be buddies, growing up together and all that. Why does he look at you like you're going to set yourself on fire?"

"I think you mean, set other people on fire. He thinks I'm a budding psychopath." Tom winced. Since coming to Hogwarts, the truth had a way of slipping through his lips. "I mean, since the _incident_ , he's been a bit on edge," he added vaguely.

"Uh huh, why just you though?"

Tom snorted. "I was the one who held the murder weapon?" he asked rhetorically, dropping his voice.

"And he organised the burial. With way too much ease. I'm more worried _he_ 's the one with criminal… inclinations."

"Why're you asking me? How should I know what goes through his mind," Tom said, hoping to end the conversation. "Ask him. Then tell me."

"Or you could just change his mind."

"Hmm?" he asked absentmindedly, though his ears might as well have twitched in interest for all it did to deter Prince's smirk.

"Get him to like you. Be nice to him and – "

"That's your big advice?" Tom interrupted. "Be nice? What are we Gryfindors?"

"Let me finish. Crisis always bring people together."

"What, like murdering people?" Yeah, that sure did wonders to deter Harry from thinking he was mad.

"Or, you could save his life."

Tom paused in his contemplation of his essay. What would resolving the tension between him and Harry do for her?

"What's it to you?"

"I just don't like seeing my friends at odd with each other," Prince smiled sweetly. "Come on, I've got a plan and everything."

He dropped his quill, and leaned forwards on his elbows. It was sure to be a stupid plan anyway, but it wouldn't hurt to listen. "Congratulations. You have my full attention. Let's hear it then."

Prince's delighted. There was definitely something in this for her. He'd figure it out later. For now, deterring Harry's plan B: 'kill Tom Riddle', was enough of a motive for him.

"How much do you know about Hogsmeade?" Prince asked.

"We're going there on a trip this weekend." That was the extent of his knowledge on the subject. Harry had been surprised that they could go as first years but the news that they would visit a pure wizarding village had sent a jolt of excitement through him. That was a couple of days ago. "Why?"

"So, apparently there is an inn there. Hog's Head."

When she didn't speak for a moment, Tom said, "If you're pausing for dramatic effect, I'd keep it moving."

Behind him, a gaggle of third years walked past. Prince waited for them to pass. "The inn's famous for housing … the more undesirable sorts."

Tom narrowed his eyes. "What, like poor people?"

"No, think more illegal and dangerous." This time she did pause for dramatic effect. "Dark creatures. And, it's the weekend of the full moon."

While they had not been taught Dark Creatures yet, Tom had devoured the textbook on the subject. Werewolves. His disdain for the animals had been obvious even to Harry who had lectured him on equality drivel. Tom had resisted to the urge to rip him a new one; instead he nodded with a look of a man being hit by an epiphany. Or lightning.

Harry had not been convinced.

Maybe visiting them, and making polite conversation would. Although… "So, that's your big plan," Tom said. "Be eaten by werewolves? I'll pass."

Prince rolled her eyes. "We won't be going there at night, don't be such a scaredy-cat. Think about it though. We'll walk in, a bunch of pureblood entitled brats, tensions high. Then I'll say a few choice words on the 'guests', Harry will probably jump in to rescue me from a fist-fight – he seems the type – all hell will break loose and then you swoop in, save him from death or worse, bam. Tears, thanks, friendships blossoms." Prince raised her hands in triumph.

Pause.

Tom burst out laughing. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Prince crossed her arms, affronted. "Really? You live with Goyle and that's the dumbest thing you've heard?"

He just wheezed in return. Oh god, he was tearing up. "There are so many things that could go wrong with that plan, I don't even know where to start. Except maybe with your eulogy."

"It's not that bad. And with the potion I know that can paralyse werewolves – "

His laughter stopped abruptly. "What was the last thing you just said?"

"Oh, now you're interested?" Prince raised her brows. "I don't know, I'm such a moron, I think I've already forgotten. Merlin, it's difficult to go through life as such an airhead."

He ignored her, his thoughts speeding ahead. Her original plan seemed stupid but actually, if they could handicap the werewolves, and whisk themselves out without blood being spilt, with civility and decorum, Harry would see him in a different light. More peaceful and accepting of others. Like that stupid little speech he gave at Godric's Hollow.

It might just work, but there were so many variables.

"The potion, is it specific to werewolves?" he asked her.

"Yes, and scent-less."

Playing devil's advocate, he asked. "How would they start a fight with us, if they're paralysed?"

Prince's eyes shone. "It's spell activated. I'm actually a genius with potion making. My whole family is. After my uncle was killed by a werewolf, my father created this potion that would paralyse them – and therefore make it easier for Aurors to capture them. It's being patented right now, but soon they'll sell it the Ministry. Get the beasts off the street and make money at the same time.

"The best part is, the potions doesn't actually exist on the general market, so they won't know what hit them. We get Harry out quick, and voila, he falls to his knees, thanking you profusely and basically owing you a life debt."

Tom stared, not like how great it sounded to have Harry grateful for something he did. Get rid of that suspicion, the subtle hatred. Instead have Harry believe he was a saviour.

His cheeks reddened at the thought.

How fantastic. Harry indebted to him, cherishing him.

"Good idea yes? And if it doesn't work, at least you will have shown your willingness to associate with the dregs of society which again, Harry seems to appreciate. Honestly, he's an odd one isn't he?"

There were so many things that could go wrong. But Tom just remained fixed on the image of Harry's face sparkling with joy and appreciation, just for him.

"Okay, I'm in."

* * *

 **A/N I know this chapter was all over the place with the POVs, but hopefully still made sense. Let me know in a review.**


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